There she goes.... My grandma.

The sun infiltrated in through the curtains and hit her eyes. She pulled the blanket further up to cover her eyes. Waking up meant waking up to the reality. Reality which had hit her hard with the cold hand of death. The void inside seemed unbearable. It wasn't so bad when she was on her home ground, but here. Every nook and cranny was full of memories. Even when she shut her eyes there were only memories.

The house was full of people. Full was an understatement. The 3BHK was bursting at its seams. All the brothers and their families had gathered. Every room had bags, every chair had clothes, and every bed and inch of the floor had someone sleeping, resting, sitting. There was a queue for everything- from the morning coffee to using the bathroom. These were only the people who were staying. There were another 70 odd people who came to visit. The supply of tea and coffee and water was never ending. Looking at all those people she realised how many lives her patti had touched.

Her patti. She would never hear her say "Kiruba" again. Never get kissed by her and crushed in her bear like hug. What had her patti not done for her.

It was because of her patti that she knew why Ganesha had an elephant's head, why one of his tusks was broken, how Muruga went to Pazhani (such a silly fight between him and his brother), how Muruga landed up with Valli and Devayani, and all the brilliant stories of Krishna and his feats. All this and more was because her patti. Who would tell her stories now? More importantly who would tell her kids all these stories?

Who would make all the cousins sit in a row and feed them dinner? Who would make the most brilliant murukku and sooji appam?

Who would tell her stories of all her naughty mamas and her rebellious mother? Who would call and then say every 2 minutes- vechitumma (Shall I keep the phone?).

All that remains now is a picture in the hall and the ever-so-wonderful never-ending list of memories. 

We are so caught up in running and keeping up with the race against the rest of the world, but the joke is on us. Because the world will never ever stop running. It is like trying to reach the end of the rainbow. There are no winners. All that happens is that we lose out on what matters most. Family. The craziness, the fights, the laughter, the food, the tears, the joy, and all the unconditional love. 

Don't wait to lose someone to realise this. Then again, realisation never strikes until you face it.

Foolish Humans, say the Gods above.